


You are my father

by ARMEN15



Category: Bron | Broen | The Bridge
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-24 12:25:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18165173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: For the season -  here March 19 is father's day -   Astrid's diary since her return home,  her life with her father and her discovery of a new female presence in her life.A work in three parts.As usual, no copyright infringements.And happy father's day for everybody, every date. Our dads (like moms) are important every day of the year. Never forget them.





	1. Chapter 1

Day 0 

I was born

A paramedic dressed in red touches the shoulder of the man who is hugging me, whispering at his ear.  
A woman with blue uniform coat and gold buttons follows him.  
The man don’t move, strengthens the embrace, until the woman calls him by his name.  
My father’s name.  
He let me go, slowly, an arm around my waist to keep the contact.  
I know who he is. I’m not his.  
“The ambulance is here”, says the woman.  
I look at her, two sad eyes, a tear on her cheek.  
“We have to go.” The man is talking to me.  
“I need my clothes. In my room.” My voice is tensed, I’m more afraid than in front of the rifle, when my instinct told me to run. Lost words from a forgotten past, never touch a gun, never be close to it, never in the line of fire….  
I shook my head, the voice belongs to the man, I was not there.  
The man looks at the woman, pleading her consent. she nods.  
“Just dress her up, we really have to go.”  
I lead the way inside the house, full of white smoke that burns throats, what does police use to make such a horrible smell?  
My room is just across the sitting room, I enter, he wants to follow and I stop him, a hand on his chest, closing the door on his face.  
His eyes are pliant and he’s hurt by my actions, I know his role but he played it with me too many years ago.  
I’m not a little child and I’m in underwear under my bathrobe.  
He asks me to hurry up, to leave this place, to run away; I grab my green cardigan, trousers, shoes, tell him my winter jacket is hanging from the corridor rack.  
I close the door behind me and we’re out again, in the middle of the confusion, police cars, vans, men with rifles or white from hair to toes.  
He looks around, like he searches someone, he yells “wait” to a woman with long blond hair who’s talking with an armed man, between a police van and a sportive green car.  
The woman looks at us, make a step, stops, lift a hand – half greeting, half blessing - enters the car and leaves. 

Day 1 

My hometown

I know he’s observing me while I explore the house, opening drawers and closets in my former bedroom, taking off every item, making a pile on Anna’s bed.  
Toys, stuffed animals, Barbie dolls.  
He passes along the corridor, again and again.  
Every other time, he asks me something.  
Am I hungry? Cold? Do I want a tea? At what time dinner?  
I answer yes or not, or don’t answer at all and his shoulders sag, he sighs.  
It’s so strange, I thought my memory would be back but there is nothing, only a black hole, also when I observe the clothes of the me that lived here, of a little girl.  
He cooks, we eat, he cleans up and we don’t know what to talk about.  
How was your day at school? You want to see a movie? Do you need help with the history homework? Can you drive me to town to buy a birthday present for a classmate?  
He grabs a photo album from a shelf, putting it on the table; I follow his moves with my eyes but I refuse to open it. I’ve stared for a long time at the photo on the low wall, close to my drawing. Me . Him. My mother. My sister.  
Tiredness makes me head for the bathroom early in the evening, it is too much, this house this man this life all of a sudden.  
I don’t have toothbrush and paste. I can’t brush my teeth. I reopen the bathroom door violently, he comes immediately, trembling for the force I put on the door; his eyes are wide, we observe on the sink two glasses with a toothbrush each. Two? He opens the cap of the paste then rummage under the sink until he finds a yellow toothbrush for children, still wrapped up in plastic and paper.  
“I’m sorry, tomorrow we’ll go to the supermarket.”  
“I could take a shower if there is a towel or a bathrobe.” Off the hospital smell, off the smell of myself away from here.  
And I refuse to see the pink bathrobe with Minnie printed on the back my old me used.  
He handles me a blue towel, so large I wrap myself into like a roll.  
“I need something for the night.”  
I don’t want to sleep with the only underwear I have.  
In my closet all the things are for who I was, nothing for my age or my size.  
What to expect from him? A selection of teen ager clothes the right size, colour, model I like?  
Does he remember what being a father mean? Is he able to be so again?  
I follow him on the threshold of his bedroom, not at ease with the idea of enter there, but wanting to see everything he does.  
He opens the top drawer and picks up a v neck t shirt. Was it mom's? She dressed so elegantly, I seldom remember a t shirt on her, especially one so plain.  
He drapes the item, looks at it, then at me, put it away and grabs from the lower drawer one of his dark grey t shirt. 

Day 3 

Cross the bridge 

Why dad didn’t find me? I was close, so close, on the map there is only a bridge that stretches between the darkness and the light.  
Why he let us go? I look at him all morning since he had collect me at the hospital.  
What happened? We were happy, the photo of a loving family is on the low wall, or so loving it seemed.  
I asked Frank how he met mom and dad and he said the worked with mom, but always he let the matter drop. I started loosing memories of my parents, of my former life. Anna was younger, hers were more fragile and disappeared too fast.  
I cried when Frank told they were dead, I wanted my stuffed bear, my best friend, and shouted all my desperation, the pain of a little girl. And the same when Anna died, this time worse, because I wasn’t a seven year old anymore.  
Alone in the world, and I had no roots, nothing at all. People at the village talked about relatives, growing up I understood I had no past at all. The demons were hidden in the corner of my room at night, I felt Frank’s eyes observing me, controlling me every day. I was lost in the woods of the fairy tales.  
The bad wolf took care of the lost child, no prince charming rescued Snow white

 

Day 4 

Mamma mia

The effort to open both eyes is too much. I barely see through my left one, eyelashes glued and I cannot lift my hand to clean them.  
There's my mother at my bedside, I call for her and she doesn't come closer. I ask her to move, my voice is strange because my mouth is dry and mom gives me water.  
A hand lift up my head, the other approach a plastic glass to my lips. I drink, wanting more, but the hands retract.  
I call for mom again, and she is silent.  
Please caress me and tell me everything will be ok, so this pain and dizziness will disappear fast.  
I want her healing kiss but I'm falling in the darkness, I see Frank pointing a rifle at me, I hide in the dark closet again, it’s a safe place.  
When I'm up again mom is still sat beside me, but she 's not my mother, she s blond with a green coat, the woman who shoot.  
Fear. Who shoot me? When? Where? Memories galloping back to me.  
The man with the gun, dad's bloodied face, the pain in my leg, dad's words.  
Where is he? He must be here with me, not this woman.  
She stares at me and I look at her and the voice that screams for a father is not mine, it cannot be mine.  
She stood up while a nurse run to my bed and force me to stay calm, telling the woman to leave.  
“Your father knows you're recovering, he’ll come soon.”  
The nurse pin my arm and when I wake up there's daylight and my real father is sat on the chair, face swollen and stitches on his forehead, in a hospital vest like mine.  
“Where has she gone? I thought she was mom and I shout at her. Who was she?”  
Dad open his mouth, twice, clearly looking for an answer, then starts crying, desperately, like he didn’t cry for years, not like two days ago at Anna's grave.  
He grabs my hand, lift it to his face, floods it with tears.  
I’m immobile, what can help him?  
I touch his shoulder, his eyes - red and puffy - meet mines.  
I’m sorry, he says over and over.  
He tells me something about the man who shoot me, it’s a complicate revenge, he and Saga were working on it then with me back he lost traces of everything. He nearly lost Saga, two bullets in her vest.  
So the three of us all were shoot in a few days, how ironic, welcome to my family, admission test to be shoot at.  
And now Saga’s gone and he wants - he does want – he needs to have her here with us.  
The nurse enters, sees dad in a state of distress, takes his blood pressure and sends him back in his room.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 7 

A long journey

My doctor wants to see me and dad at 10 to discuss about my rehabilitation and dad pushes me in the wheelchair to the lift to reach -1 floor, a large room full of gym machines, parallel bars, massage beds. Quite a real gym, if only for being in a hospital.  
Dad has a lot of things to ask the doctor, he reads from his phone.  
Is my father so versed in medicine?  
His questions are precise, not from notes but from a chat with someone, I wonder who.  
The medical staff takes him seriously, complimenting for his knowledge dad, who blushes, it’s his partner’s merit, not his.  
I got the answer to my who, it’s Saga, I’m 100% sure..  
It's not pleasant to be asked to move my injured leg, my physiotherapist is a woman around 50, her tag says Ulla, she probes my calf and my knee with strong arms and weights my thin frame. She speaks with the doctor then turns to us.  
“It will be hard to walk with crutches, your upper body is too fragile, we need to work 360° on you, Astrid, it will take time before you can walk properly and your body need to support you.”  
So my ordeal begins, one exercise after the another, an hour passes and my back aches, my arms feel like logs.  
Dad looks at me all the time and smiles, trying to be brave and strong for me,  
Ulla fixes another session for tomorrow, I want to scream.  
Dad stands behind my wheelchair and slowly rubs my shoulders, his touch is healing, his strength passes between us.  
I need to go home in Denmark, my real home, the one I plan to explore in every detail, the one in my dreams now. Dad goes to find the doctor and he is back with a promise, tomorrow I’ll be discarded. 

Day 8 

Don’t. 

Don’t open the door, don’t answer the bell, don’t accept the phone call.  
Don’t abandon me, don’t leave my side. I clang to your arms, I don’t want the crutches, I want only my father to support me. I need you, I do need you.  
A little girl, aged barely five again, scared to see new people, praying her parents to keep her safe, hidden behind her father's legs.  
Close every window, seal the house, so nobody could harm us another time, hurt your head, plant a bullet in my leg or point a gun at me. I've lost him once, could loose him twice – he wanted to die instead of me - he's all I've got now.  
I try to hide in my bedroom, unchanged from my memories; he follows me.  
“Be quiet, no one will come for us, I’m sure. I’ve lived alone for a long time, people could not see this house remains like the day you left.”  
“Help me, Frank will come here, he knows where you live.”  
“He won’t come, as long as I breathe he’ll stay away from you, I swear. I’ll never leave you again.”  
He hugs me, wraps me with strong arms, whispers something that can pass for a goodnight lullaby for a little princess that sleeps in a castle with faithful lions to protect her.  
“I want a lion dad!”  
“A little unpractical in our house.”  
“A pet. You promised me and Anna, we never had.”,  
He nods, he’s sure this time, we open internet and look at the animal shelter closer to home, he tells me about his dogs when he was young, in his parents’ house in the countryside.  
I want to see the photos, all our past, I need to rebuild 15 years of our lives. Time can be so short, I tell him and he reassures me.  
And from dusted boxes from the upper part of the wardrobe come out everything, memories of holidays, daily trips, school events, a box of all the cards when I was born and every birthday since,  
I read every one with care, while dad explains me the people who wrote them, his cousins, former colleagues, my school mates.  
An album for the first day at school, the classroom with welcome decorations on the walls and my school bag on my little desk.  
For an evening all the bad, all the pain, all the sadness of the past is forgotten. 

 

Day 12 

Inspection rules 

Dad receives a call and explains he cannot leave. The voice insists, dad repeats Lillian would understand the situation and never force him but the caller wants dad.  
“I give up, I'll be there in an hour, I need to find a babysitter.”  
He looks at me, resigned.  
“I need to leave, I'll ask a neighbour to come here.”  
“I don’t need it!”  
My voice higher than I want, refusing to be treated like a little child.  
He's scared of my reaction, I challenge his gaze, unafraid, never giving up and he lifts his hand in resignation  
“I’ll be fast, promise me to stay inside and don’t open the door “  
He can be slow, I want to be here alone, not with him following me like a dog, sometimes I think he's like Frank, controlling me. Or he has no one else to be with. We went to the grandfathers, we did shopping, we bought groceries, always together. I have a pre paid card from his bank for my every day purchases, where can I go and with whom? My old friends move away or have other groups.  
Dad's eyes are always sweet, opposite Frank’s, there is kindness in every little gesture from him, just for me, asking forgiveness and mercy for the years lost.  
A part of me needs to be free, needs the black mantle Agnes used to go out with, unseen, unnoticed, unafraid; the other wants to cuddle in his arms, to be protected and loved.  
Harriet's routine was hard on me, I had my way to trespass the boundaries she decided. Never was my choice to stay there.  
As soon as dad leaves I start the exploration, carefully, knelt on the floor to open drawers and took out every item, remembering the precise order so that his photographic memory won’t notice. I have my own memory, my genes are half his.  
I need to find my mother, she's the one really gone from here.  
There's nothing in the living area, her books, her glass animals, her favourite music.  
A few elegant female dresses hang in the wardrobe covered by plastic protrection from the laundry shop.  
Why dad erased her and not me and Anna?  
I have to try in his bedroom, although I don’t like to enter there, never comfortable a room where a man sleeps alone.  
When Frank called me from his bedroom I found lots of excuses to delay or avoid it at all. This time it's dad's, it's safe in our home.  
I open the drawer dad took the first t shirt from and it's empty now, I remember that evening it was full of woman underwear.  
A huge delusion, but in closing it don’t go full in, something behind stops it, an half empty box of Swedish snugs.  
Mom never smoke, dad kept a packet of cigarettes in his coat to offer at work, he said, Saga is Swedish. Her snugs in dad's bedroom?  
Maybe her t shirt, too? And her underwear?  
Dad erased mom because there was someone else at her place?  
I need to explore more, walking around the bed the sheets seems used on both side, I can't trace a smell if dad changed them. Something grey is stuck between the nightstand and the bed frame. A rolled up grey sock, worn out on the heel.  
In the bathroom, where dad does the laundry, to compare it to one of his.  
It’s smaller, there's a trace of a number that could be a 8. 38? A very female number. A woman was here, slept here, lived here, my gut feeling says Saga; I'm happy for dad, sorry for mom.  
So where is Saga now, she should be with dad, not away.  
In the bathroom I control the shelves, the upper one is hard to reach, standing on a three steps ladder I see rose scented soaps and a vase of skin cream, dried and full of wrinkles. Mom’s. Traces of her scent, her sweetness, I breathe her  
When dad is back I ask him to go and see her grave, with a bunch of her favourite roses. 

Day 16 

Call me if you can 

 

The snugs box is in my drawer, no more occasions to explore but dad is more relaxed day by day, we start talking about things we can do together, there is a bundle of fur resting in my lap, my first cat, a seven months old calico girl. Dad is building for her a safe kennel in the back garden, so she will go out but won’t get lost .  
Ulla is my nightmare, in every session I feel pain all over my body and she is happy, she weights me, pleased I'm growing muscles,.  
After a week I can walk with my crutches, but when she insists with harder exercise I close my eyes and become Agnes, imagining to lock Ulla in a secret dungeon and make her suffer like I have to, my striped cat tiger as a fierce guardian. .  
Dad has a meeting with his counsellor after I'm done with ulla and I sit in the waiting room, dad's coat is draped on the chair at my left and I hear his phone.  
Five rings and it stops, then five more. A pause. I take it out, it can be important to insist twice. I can answer dad is busy, ask to call him again later.  
It's saga.  
Scrolling, lots of texts under her name appear; it's dad private life, I m not entitled to read them although my curiosity is intense.  
He's often sad in the evening, after receiving calls, and the list show it's Saga calling him.  
The phone rings again, it's heavy in my hand.  
“Hallo.”  
“Saga Nor….” A strong voice, then a pause. “Who are you? Where is Henrik?”  
“I’m Astrid. Dad's with his therapist.”  
“His appointment is tomorrow at 15 and you should have a session with Ulla.”  
“I've just finished, in advance. Dad had to change his.”  
How does she know our schedules in precise details?  
“Tell Henrik I need him to call my bank, there's an envelope to collect for me. I’ll sign the documents when I'm back. He’s got the number.”  
“So you will return? Dad will be happy!”  
“I've always planned to return. Why are you asking?”  
“Because Dad is often sad. When? ”  
“He never asks me when.”  
“Maybe he should have.”  
I want to see dad happy all the time, we need to explore something different from pain and loneliness. If Saga is what he wants to feel complete, so be it.  
I don’t want another lonely and embittered father like Frank was, I want a real family, with laugths, smiles and a mother for me.  
“If he’s afraid? So when?”  
“Soon. A week. And we’ll meet. Henrik wants us so.”  
She’s in Madrid, Prado museum, wants my number, she has to go, the guided tour she paid for is starting.  
Soon I receive a list of places she visited, with photos, I can trace her, make a map.  
I tell dad the good news while he’s still on the threshold of his doctor room, I can’t help myself, his eyes shine and he hugs me, so lost in his happiness I have to tell him twice to call the bank.  
From darkness and uncertainty to light and trepidation only because Saga gave us a date; he could have asked, she’d tell him her plans.  
“I’m scared for a negative answer, to have my hopes destroyed again. Like when you were away, for years I prayed and nobody never listened to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Day 19

Agnes 

Going to Sweden with dad and his boss on a service car, dad is silent and I’m texting with Saga; my declaration was scheduled for next week but the prosecutor wants to accelerate the trial.  
Saga planned to be present, unluckily her Porsche has a flat tyre and she is stuck somewhere in Germany.  
She writes no one can force me to remember painful things. When I read dad her suggestions he nearly chokes; Lillian says Saga must have changed indeed. They both agree with Saga, there are enough proofs, Harriet's people are all witnesses.   
Dad keeps a hand on my shoulder while we enter the prosecutor's office; Linn, the woman with the blue uniform the day dad saved me is kind and asks me how I am.  
Tears in her eyes, dad shakes her hand, then he has a sudden tremor and hugs her.  
I'm glad you have at least one back, she tells him, warmed by his grsture of affection.  
The prosecutor is a tall man, very thin, bald; he's old, seventy maybe. Isn't he already retired?   
His voice is strong when he starts the procedural part.   
Dad has warned me, there are lots of formalities; I'm a detective's daughter, since I was born I know there are rules that divide bad and good people, justice is complex.  
So no, I don’t need a translator, yes, I understand Swedish very well, yes, my real father is here so no need of social services.  
Questions start and hit hard, soon, more than I imagined. Anna.   
All my nightmares, fears, delusions return in a rush that starts from deep down and reach my head.   
I’m alone in the void Anna left me, dad saus something to the prosecutor, he wants a break because I’m confused. I don’t feel dad close, I’ve lost him again.   
There’s Agnes inside me, the hood, the dark mantle and my hands throw back my hair like she combs them.  
My voice becomes hers, harsh in answering, rage in me fights with fear.  
Bad feelings and I notice a male hand on my arm, the impulse to show it away – show my father away, because he wasn't there when I needed him - my arm is ready to snap when the door opens, there’s a request to attend my audition.   
It’s not a public hearing, the prosecutor chastises his assistant, who cannot move, there’s someone with her.  
“It’s for the girl’s sake, a relative, ex detective. She asks approval.”   
Saga is behind the assistant, her hair shorter, her face tanned, she wears a brown jacket, a folder in her hands.   
I observe her for the very first time without being in danger, I can’t believe she made it on time.  
I hear dad’s intake of breath, I imagine his shining face. Astrid is back and grabs her father's hand.   
“It’s unorthodox because I resigned from police. I’m here for my partner’s daughter.”  
Dad confirms Saga can stay and places a chair for her on my other side.   
Ask me whatever you want, I’m safe between them, no more an orphaned girl, but a young woman with a family. My heart swells with pride, she’s here for us, I've got someone who travelled all day to help me.  
Time goes fast, eight years of my life are compressed in an hour and half of questions.  
I refuse to call Frank by his name, Saga tells me I have to be accurate, it must appears on every official documents that he was the man who abducted me and Anna.  
A pause before reading and signing the declaration, then we are alone.   
“You were brave and detailed.” Saga’s hand on my shoulder, she’s proud of me.  
“I wanted you here.”  
“I paid four new tyres to have them changed faster and arrive on time.”  
Dad is silent, his eyes are on Saga; I’m young and inexpert, but I can recognize what runs between them.   
Dad stays immobile, it’s Saga who goes on tiptoes to give him a brief kiss on the lips.   
Come on dad, do something! Good, take her hand, take my arm, too, so we can leave together. 

 

Day 21

Breakfast for three 

Dad is busy in the kitchen all Friday afternoon, Saga’s coming for dinner after in two days she has organized her things in Malmo.   
She’s taking life changing decisions, dad repeats, hoping one of them is living with us; a hotel room is temporary for her. Dad is evaluating to buy another house, away from painful memories, one bigger so Saga can have her own space.  
After dinner she offers us gifts - Belgian chocolate, an acquarel of Amsterdam’s canals for me, a Swiss multi tool pocket knife for dad - and we talked about the places she visited, then I go to bed with a book and my cat.  
Voices in the living room, two series of steps to and from the bathroom, water running in the shower.   
Saga stays for the night, a joy for dad. Other sounds follow, a strange creaking of wood on wall, a muffled cry, then voices again. My eyes are closing, I’m tired, I’ll ask tomorrow…  
I wake up on Saturday morning later than usual, dad is at the fires, t shirt and gym trousers, looking ten year younger and reading a recipe from the tablet. Something new he wants to try. Yesterday he nervously bought so much food we can feed a dozen of people. The table is set for three. Saga is still here.   
“Where's Saga?”  
“Still in bed, she has some troubles sleeping and we refuse sleeping pills. Go call her, please.”   
I knock at the door, partially ajar, Saga is half up, reading, my cat is sleeping curled up along her leg. Traitor! I got up and she wasn’t on my bed.  
Saga looks at my new blue bathrobe and says she'd like one for herself. Her travel bag is on the chair, ridiculously small, her clothes in the washing machine, I saw dad putting them there.   
She has no home, no place to stay, all her belongings are in a storage unit in Malmo.  
I run to dad with her request, he opens the wardrobe to retrieve a bag with a brand new yellow bathrobe, still sealed. Her size. I look at him, he looks at me, tells it was a gift he bought too late.  
“Give it to Saga, hurry up, breakfast is ready.”  
We sit at the table, dad at the head, me facing Saga.   
I start with cereals and strawberries, then dad puts a crepe on my plate; Saga is hungry, eats scrambled eggs, two crepes with marmalade, a cup of tea. She was hungry at dinner, too, devouring dad’s special welcome back food. He squared her, weighing her, then remained silent.   
“How're the crepes?” He asks us and she answers faster than me.   
“Sufficient for a first attempt, you can get better.”   
Dad smiles, he appreciates her straightforwardness, Saga is so honest. He offers her a a orange juice glass, she grabs it and their fingers touch and linger. I understand now, I heard last night sounds of lovemaking from their bedroom.   
So dad has a mate. Can she be also my stepmother? He had mom before, so beautiful, so well dressed, why he ended up with a colleague detective, who seems ruffled in her appearance?   
She’s very intelligent – I noticed it in Sweden – strong and determinate and she considers me an adult, not a child. I like her, I ask her if she can stay. Dad is embarrassed by my words, she turns to him, then nods.   
The three of us are at the same table and it’s good, it feels right, it has to be so. 

 

Day 27

Letting go.

Dad leaves mid morning, Saga stands beside him and he briefly touch her arm.   
He’s nervous, his face turns to me, to Saga, to me again, I count new wrinkles on his face.   
“It’s the right thing, we’ll sort it out.” she whispers.  
He nods, repeats again he needs us and nearly forgets the car keys on the table.   
My suspicions arise, he’s strange and I start questioning Saga. She’s on temporary leave – she resigned, but dad knows best she’s simply thinking about what to do - she has no excuses to leave home, she’ll listen to me.  
Saga cannot lie, may she try, it’s a huge effort that reveals all her inner true self.  
But her lips are sealed; it must be something very important for dad. And for Saga, too.  
I give up, dad is soon back for lunch, with steaming take away pizzas; for a while we forget everything, kitty cat wants a slice and we all laugh when she jumps on the table.  
A meaningful glance between them when we are finished makes my skin prickles.  
Dad sits near me, asks forgiveness before starting.   
“I don’t want to hurt you, I swear. When we found Alice, we had a short service for her at the graveyard.”  
Mom wasn’t religious, she wanted a civil wedding, dad accepted only for her.   
“I want a religious funeral for Anna, I need to bury her.” he continues.  
I hear myself reply in astonishment that Anna is already buried.  
“Your father has to pass through all stages of mourning Anna, he needs to elaborate the loss. Rituals are important. You’ve already done it for your sister and we don’t want to make you suffer again.”   
Dad understands my reluctance to take part.  
My head’s spinning and my hands tremble, what does he want? Protect me? Cut me off? Mourn alone?   
I run into my bedroom, he stands, following me, his strangled cry makes me turn.   
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”, he repeats, watery eyes and ragged breaths, “I only thought you…”  
His arms open in defeat and it’s hard to accept it.  
If this family has to work, we need to share everything. We went into three different hells – Saga’s face tells me so - we deserve a light.   
“I want to come with you. And I want mom to be remembered, too. I haven’t had a memorial for her.”   
Saga at the door, saying it’s logical, mirroring our reality.   
“You each mourned alone, you need to do it together.”   
“We all need, Saga. Also you lost someone.”  
“You’re right.”  
Now I’m curious: Saga knows a lot about me, she worked on my case for a long time, I’ve been studying her – during this attempt at cohabitation – observing, memorizing, drawing her.   
“You lost whom?”   
“My younger sister.”  
“And did you mourn her?”  
“For a long time. I couldn’t go to her funeral. I fear to have failed her, now I’m free  
Dad leads us back to the couch, we sit together; he’s got an idea, we’ll have a strictly private service and we’ll remember them all. 

 

Day 31

Happy father’s day

Panels in stores, Tv spots, newspaper ads remember me the day with ferocious intensity.   
How could I forget him, looking at the silly drawing I did nine years ago?   
Anna wanted me to draw us with dad, she tore off the first sheet I used, then she cried and mom told me to do what Anna wanted and gave me another slice of cake.   
Mom was at home, one of her free days, or was it a weekend?   
Dad was at work, he was always there, coming home only to give us goodnight kisses and short bedtime stories.   
I remember his facial hairs, delicate on my cheeks, his hand on my head.   
First me, then Anna, then a last look before softly closing the bedroom door.   
After, I could sleep, while the flower shaped lamp casted a soft light in the room.   
I draw happily then, animals and flowers and houses with huge windows. To calm me, mom knew it was enough to offer me a white sheet and colours.   
Anna always tried to copy me, but she got bored soon and returned to her dolls.   
I liked the smell of colours, the way I could use my brushes or fingers to spread them on the paper.   
At school my fantasy was huge, I did a vibrant draw for each friend and offered them.   
On this very day, father’s day, a life ago dad arrived home and I was impatient to show him my gift; chocolate and biscuits and we ate together and dad was so happy all evening..   
We went to bed and next thing I remember mom took us to a place with lot of animals and carousels and a kind man took care of us.   
And dad was gone, dead. At seven this word had no sense at all, my parents would never return. Never in my life.   
I believed in that other man, for a long time, I believed in his house and in his food and in his language, too.   
And I forgot my father. I erased my roots, becoming a seed who sprang from a deserted land, alone.   
I still believed in that man when Anna was ill, but when I knew what he meant about mom and dad and Anna dead and so I was alone I cried all the tears I stored in me for years.   
Since then I lost faith in him, plans to leave took form, a bus stop was near the graveyard where Anna was buried, I learned by memory the timetable and the villages on route.   
I wanted a new life, I’ve fulfilled my need in an old place and in a familiar face.  
Yesterday Saga and me drove to buy dad a gift, now hidden in her bedside drawer until dinner, but I need another purchase foir my drawing, I whisper Saga to drive me again to town .  
Colours in hand, I take a new cardboard and an idea grows under my eyes. I draw by memory, keep my concentration, knowing the model is simply at the other side of the table, reading the morning newspaper, talking with us.   
He's unaware, he's so relaxed now, happy, last week he said for the first time in years he feels complete; Saga notices my work and it's good to see her little smile.   
I can draw a family of three, my family now.


End file.
